


But Is Beginning

by celestialskiff



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-25
Updated: 2011-06-25
Packaged: 2017-10-20 17:44:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialskiff/pseuds/celestialskiff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>They were seven stories up, or was it fourteen? Amy couldn't quite tell. There was something disorienting about the landscape here, on this planet, like it didn't quite fit together.</i> A sexually graphic depiction of Amy and River set after A Good Man Goes to War.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Is Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Kinks: Anal play, rimming, incest

  
Let us together closely lie, and kiss,  
There is no labour, nor no shame, in this;  
This hath pleased, doth please, and long will please; never  
Can this decay, but is beginning ever.  
-Petronius Arbiter    


River was sitting on the staircase leading away from the centre of the TARDIS. Her eyes were on the Doctor, but were out of focus. Amy sat down next to her, and smoothed her skirt, feeling a slow, tired ache in her knees: there had been a lot of running. She put her hand, palm up, on River's lap. River looked at her, her head slightly to one side.

This, the first time I've met you, Amy thought. This, the first time I'm touching you. She would remember, later, how deliberate she was. She would remember, more indistinctly, the warmth of River's thigh under her hand, and strength of River's fingers against her own.

She looked, then, at that face, that compelling face, and was surprised to see sadness there. But the fingers squeezing hers were somehow both soft and calloused, and Amy couldn't believe how such a simple touch went straight to her groin.

Later, they kissed each other in Amy's narrow bedroom, and River ran her hand over Amy's cheek, and Amy licked her palm right in the centre. It tasted like orange peel.

“You don't need to outline your eyes so thickly,” River said, tracing the line of Amy's cheekbone. “It disguises those eyelashes of yours.”

Amy looked at the lines of River's face, remembered that earlier she'd longed for similar elegance. “How would you do it?” she said.

“I'll show you,” River said, but instead she kissed her again, and for the first time Amy felt her tongue between her lips, smooth and firm and so hot.

Later still they lay next to each other on the bed, Amy fitting herself around the curves of River's body, her skin flushed and damp, smiling to herself, holding the memory of River's fingers, River's breasts, the side of River's neck, inside her, warm and perfect.

“I've never done anything like that before,” Amy said, stretching.

“I know,” River said.

Amy rolled over, surprised at the sadness on River's face. She kissed her, kissed the tender skin at her temple. “Why do you look so sad?”

“Because you've never done anything like that before,” River said.

Amy wrapped her arm around River, traced her fingers down River's spine, delighting that she _could_ , that this was allowed. “But we'll do it again? Won't we? You'll show me more things?”

River's voice was even as she said, “Yes. Yes, I'll show you more things.” And they lay, in the narrow room in the TARDIS, entirely together.

*

River laughed a lot, and Amy liked that. She laughed when Amy touched her in the wrong places—or were they the _right_ places?—and when Amy gasped at the sight of some new city or nibbled tentatively at some strange food. She laughed when Amy tried to emulate the things River had taught her: the style of clothes, how to part her hair, how to nip River's skin, how come so often you were left shaking; and she laughed when Amy was shocked by graciousness of the hotels they visited, by the luxury of the beds, and the things they did in them.

River laughed a lot, and Amy liked that. It made _this_ —the time they spent together—seem less serious, less of a betrayal. It made it seem less important. Amy could pretend she didn't long for these trips, didn't long for River's hands on her skin, didn't ache when she saw the sadness on River's face.

River laughed, too, when Amy found out who she really was. And it was the same laughter they had always shared: gentle, kind, accepting. Making Amy feel like things weren't really serious; like this wasn't really important.

*

They were seven stories up, or was it fourteen? Amy couldn't quite tell. There was something disorienting about the landscape here, on this planet, like it didn't quite fit together. River put her hands on Amy's shoulders, her thumbs tangling in Amy's hair, and then traced the stiff muscles at the base of her neck. Amy found herself sighing, loosening under River's hands.

“No,” she said softly, trying out the feel of the word in her mouth. She looked at the water flowing far beneath them. The reflections made it look like it was two canals on top of each other, overlapping, water flowing in a way it should not flow. “No,” Amy said again. “This is all wrong, isn't it? You know it's wrong.”

“I've always known,” River said, and her left hand was circling lower now, down the line of her spine. It stopped at the small of her back, and rested there. “I've always known what we are to each other, Amy. Dear.”

She kissed Amy, gently, just below her earlobe, and stepped back. Amy instantly ached for the contact, for River's clever hands on her skin. She felt like she'd been missing River for months. She turned around, slowly. River had arranged herself on the bed, the silky dress she was wearing unwrinkled and clinging to the smooth lines of her body. Amy wondered how she managed it. This elegance, this confidence. Around her, Amy felt very small, and very young, and very unkempt. She'd even tried to dress up, but her denim skirt seemed ugly and coarse when she compared it with River's silk.

“I'm your mother,” Amy said. “And I'm standing here wondering how to make myself look sexier for you.”

“You look very sexy,” River said, and smiled.

“Do you think so?” Amy said, and shook her head. “That isn't what I meant to say.” The bed was covered in a green counterpane, soft and wide, and Amy sat on it, closer to River than she needed to.

“What did you mean to say?”

“That I shouldn't be trying to look sexy for you?” Amy said. “That this is all wrong?”

“You wouldn't have come,” River said gently, “If you didn't want this.” She kissed Amy on the lips, and Amy found her mouth opening, and the smoothness of River's tongue meeting her own, the heat of River's mouth. “Besides,” River said, “I haven't finished teaching you. Showing you all the things I want to show you.”

“You shouldn't be showing me things...” Amy began, and River kissed her again. It was a long kiss, and Amy felt breathless afterwards, and even more flustered.

River said, “I'm only teaching you the things you taught me, sweetie,” and before Amy had time to digest _that_ she was guiding her down on to the bed, and Amy found herself whimpering as River climbed on top of her, the wiry arms pinning her to the wide, green, unfamiliar bed, and the much-adored mouth kissing her lips, her cheeks, her eyes, her neck.

River was everything at once. She was gentle even as she nipped Amy's skin hard, blunt teeth stinging, and strong even as she slowly undid Amy's shirt button by button. Amy kicked off the denim skirt, the thick Marks and Spencer tights, and lay there, hot and damp and flushed, realising that River hadn't even removed her dress.

“You always look so elegant,” Amy said as River licked the skin above her right collar bone. “How do you manage it? You don't get it from me.”

River laughed then, tongue warm on Amy skin, and palms light against Amy's arms. “It takes practice,” she said.

“You going to teach me?” Amy said, and River sucked the skin at the place where Amy's breast stopped being simply _skin_ and became the warmth and sensitivity of _breast_. Amy bucked against the mouth, whimpering slightly as River bit harder, and then let go, her tongue soothing the place where it stung.

“I could,” River said, “But I have something else to show you today.”

“To show me?” Amy said. “What is it?”

River leant back, untangling herself from Amy's hips, Amy's long, ungainly legs. “Roll over,” she said.

Amy sat up, leaning on her elbows. She could see the sky through the window, a deep, February grey, and, closer, the lamp on the table, with its gold shade, her tangle of clothes on the edge of the bed. “Why?”

“Amy. Sweetie,” River said. “Aren't my suggestions always good ones?”

“I suppose,” Amy said. “I don't see why you can't explain more, though.” And she rolled over, revealing the white line of her vulnerable back to River, the curve of her bum. River knelt by her side, her hair catching the light. She caught Amy's eye and smiled as she ran her fingers down Amy's spine, her nails deliciously sharp as they caught the skin.

“Why are you still wearing clothes?” Amy said.

River leant over her, her breasts pressing against Amy through their silk, running her body against Amy's back, her lips warm against Amy's neck as she said, “But doesn't it feel good against your skin? It feels good against _my_ skin.”

Amy wanted to grab her, to pull her close, to feel her hands inside her. But she just said, “Yes,” as River and her blue silk tickled her hot flesh.

Then River's mouth was on Amy's bum, her lips tickling Amy's left cheek, her teeth nipping, blunt and gentle, and sending tremors up Amy's spine.

“What are you doing?”

River's lips and tongue travelled over Amy's bum, to the cleft, and then Amy felt the wet heat between her cheeks, and she murmured, surprised, and surprised at her own interest. River dipped further—Amy thought she'd read about this, but she'd never tried it—and River's tongue was touching the centre of her hole, outlining it in her saliva, the heat of her mouth, and Amy whimpered, biting her own tongue, her hips raising shudderingly, involuntarily, and the warmth, and the wetness and the _movement_ of River's tongue was almost too much.

She closed her eyes, the gold lamp winking out of existence, and felt River's hand on her raised hip, defining her edges, the sharp nails pressing into the taut skin there, and she felt her clitoris throb— _Oh_. She was so turned on it almost stung.

“My nails are sharp on this hand; feel,” River said, and ran her hand across Amy's back in one quick motion. It stung, as it had stung earlier, and Amy wondered if her back was marked in red lines.

“I _know_ they're sharp,” Amy said.

“But on this hand, they're blunt,” River said, and she ran her right hand over Amy's back, the pads of her fingers strong, making Amy squirm. “That's important.”

Amy heard a click of something being opened. She lowered her hips, rubbing herself against the bedspread, a tremor of pleasure spreading through her labia. She opened her eyes, and saw River pouring thin, silky lube over her fingers. The glistened in the light.

“Were you listening?”

“Mm,” Amy said, rolling her hips slightly, against the bed. “I was listening.”

“Good girl,” River said. She ran her left hand over Amy's bum again, so lightly it almost tickled. “Lift you hips.”

Amy felt River's hand sliding between her legs, the soft, silky fingers meeting Amy's wetness, her smooth, tingling vulva, and River's fingers were light on her skin, too light, and Amy whimpered, and pressed down, and she felt their clever heat meeting her in hard, practised strokes, and before she could catch her breath, before she could _think_ about it properly, she was shivering and whimpering and coming. River kissed her, the planes of her back, the base of her spine, the curve of her ass, her fingers warm and wet and touching Amy in just the right place—

Amy found herself murmuring nonsense, and River laughed. “This is just the beginning,” she said, and Amy said, “I know. It always is, with you,” and she loved how much River laughed, and then—

— _Oh_. River's mouth was there again, and Amy was still trembling, her skin too sensitive from her orgasm, and the tongue pressed further, dipping into the heat of Amy's ass, the little, hard wet muscle of River's tongue pressing there, and then her fingers, slick with lube and Amy's own wetness, surprisingly slick, they slipped in so easily, Amy hadn't expected it to be easy—

“I can feel your pulse, you know,” River said, softly. “Everyone is different. In some people, their pulse is hidden. There's no artery to feel. And in some people, like you, it's so close to the surface. Ticking against my fingers.”

“Do you take after me?” Amy said, speaking slowly because her voice felt like it might crack.

“You'll just have to find out,” River said, “Won't you?”

And then she moved her finger, and Amy whimpered, the strange, tight sensation of the digit surrounded by her muscles, and then River moved again, and she felt the deeper stretch of another finger entering her ass, and the press of them, the weight of them, delving into her. She bit her lip, raising his hips higher, feeling River's finger, warm and tight and eager. And there was River's dress, cool and silky and blue against her thighs, and she was so naked, trembling here, with River's fingers inside her, her hair tangled and sweaty against her neck, and here was River: perfect, and so calm.

“Fuck me,” Amy said, bucking against River's hands. “Take your clothes off. Fuck me.”

“Which first?” River said, her fingers twisting ever so slightly, and then, in one fluid motion, she slid her other hand under Amy's body, to her vulva, to wet folds, her fingers splayed over them, and Amy jerked forward, rubbing herself on River's hand as River's fingers slid so tantalisingly in her bum.

“Everything,” Amy said, raising her hips further, so her back was arched upwards, and her tummy was raised of the bed, and closed her eyes and buried her face in the hard lines of her arms because she could only feel.

Then River slid her hands out of her, her warm, searching fingers leaving Amy's bum, Amy's hips rolling as her vulva met only cool air. “Stay like that,” River said, and Amy opened her eyes, twisting her head awkwardly. “Stay just like that.”

She watched as River pulled the dress over head, watched as she hung it neatly in the hotel cupboard, watched as she unhooked her bra, and stood there, naked, perfect, looking at Amy, smiling her familiar smile.

“Well?” Amy snapped, not moving, her legs trembling.

River came to her in one swift motion, and knelt by her side, kissing her neck, her her hip, her bum. “You are _so_ obedient,” River said.

“Funny, that's another way you don't take after me,” Amy said.

River laughed again, and kissed her, untangling Amy's mouth from the pillow, from the strands of hair the clung to her lips. Amy's hips gave out, and she rolled over, her hand on the back of River's neck, her arm around River's waist, and pulled River's warm body down onto her own. She kissed River's jawline, the hollow at the base of her throat, and cupped River's right breast in her hand, her thumb flicking over the nipple.

“Anyone ever tell you you've got really beautiful breasts?” Amy said.

“Yes, you do,” River said. “You tell me all the time. And you're not the only one.”

“Mm,” Amy said, “Well, five stars. A-plus. You did well.” She heard River's breath quickening and she wrapped her lips around the nipple, fingers squeezing the breast, just shy of gently, and sucked. River groaned softly, and Amy felt her heat, and tasted her clean skin under her tongue.

“I thought you wanted me to fuck you,” River said.

“Of course,” Amy said. “I'm just waiting for you to get round to it.”

There was a fumble of movement, the bedclothes rumpled under them, and they rearranged themselves, Amy rolling grudgingly onto her front again, and River slid a black dildo between Amy's thighs, and into her cunt.

“Small,” Amy said, in surprise. “Smaller than usual.”

“Yes,” River said, and rocked it inside, and Amy squeezed her muscles around it, aware of its inadequacies, and of River's hand on her hip, and the weight of River's breasts, naked and soft against her back.

Then River withdrew the dildo and Amy found herself making a faint, squeaking protest, and then she felt it pressing against her asshole, slick and suddenly large, and strange.

“Oh,” Amy said. “Oh.” And then, as River seemed to be waiting, the dildo tantalisingly close, her other hand fingering the curls of Amy's pubic hair, but doing _nothing_ , nothing useful, she said. “Yes. Go on.”

River laughed, gentle, kind, and the slick weight of the dildo began to press inside her. Amy was acutely aware of it: of the stretch, the sensation that was not quite pleasure, but was completely captivating, and the ache; the slow, languid way River was moving it. Amy could think of nothing else, until River slid her other hand onto Amy's vulva, fingering the folds of labia, getting so close to her clitoris, but not quite touching it, not quite—

She was overwhelmed by it, by the sensations unfolding in her, the fingers and the dildo moving slowly inside her, the different rhythms, the two completely separate sensations so close to each other, and yet so independent of each other. She was gasping, her breath rough in her throat, unaware of the sweat on her skin, unaware of her thighs aching from holding herself up, unaware of the the she was biting at her forearm to keep in the sounds. Aware, only, of this, this, this.

She felt herself coming, the slow burn of it, the feeling almost overwhelming, and River did not change her position, but kept fucking her, and fucking her, and the sensations were almost too much for her, and not quite enough at the same time.

“River,” she said to the pillows, to her arms, to the tangle of bright hair sticking to her face, “River, River, River, River.”

She was aware, then, of her hips giving out, of meeting the bed, and River's hands letting go. “Oh,” she said. She took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling aches spreading out inside herself, and along her limbs, but they were good aches, delicious aches. “Oh,” she said. “Oh, River Song, who taught you to be so _good_ at this?”

River smiled, her smile that so neatly hid the things she didn't want to say, and she caressed Amy's hair. Amy sat up, flushed, and trembling, and happy.

“You can lie down, sweetie, if you want. If you're tired,” River said.

“No way,” Amy said. “There are some things I know how to do well too. Lie down.”

“Ah. So you can be bossy too,” River said, and stretched elegantly out on the green counterpane, her limbs white against its green, against the dimness of the darkening room. For a moment, Amy found herself just looking at her, captivated by the lines of her body, the colour of her nipples, the damp curls of her pubic hair. And then Amy wanted to touch.

River's thighs were sticky with her own wetness, and her vulva was so slick Amy's fingers almost slid right out of it. She crouched in front of River's opened thighs, her long hair sticking to her wet lips, tangling in River's cunt as Amy leant over and licked, and licked.

“Oh you are getting good at that,” River said. “You're such a quicker learner.” She paused, her breath rough, and Amy was intoxicated by the taste of her. “You look so beautiful when you come, Amy. I love to feel you under my hands. Quivering like that.”

Amy slid two fingers inside River, and then licked the soft fold next to her clitoris, and licked, and _sucked_ and River stopped talking.

When she could speak again, she said, “I want you to practice, you know. I want you to take the dildo back with you, and use it. I want to imagine you sliding it into your own bum. I want to think about the sounds you'll make.”

“Yes,” Amy said, her tongue forming the words against River's vulva. “I will do that.”

*

The sun had set, and three moons were rising. The day had been so dark, so overcast, that the bedroom was brighter in the moonlight. The moons were very large, and very clear, and cast silvery shadows all over the room. River was sleeping, but when Amy reached out and turned on the lamp, she woke.

The lamplight was very warm, and lying back in it felt like settling in a warm bath. River shifted, settling her head on Amy's shoulders. Amy reached up and stroked her soft hair.

“Are you hungry?” River said.

“A little. Do you want to get something to eat?”

“Soon,” River said, curling closer to Amy, hooking her left leg over Amy's hip.

“Do you have more things to teach me?” Amy said.

“Yes. Yes, sweetie. I always have more things to teach you.”

“Good,” Amy said, cupping her hand around the base of River's skull. The moons were the brightest she had ever seen, and Amy felt her daughter's heart beating against her shoulder. For her, this was always beginning, she and River were always exploring new things. She knew that it was different for River. She knew that they could only really fit together in these moments, in this brief, glorious now.


End file.
